Brian Rathbone - Inherited Danger

Benjin must have sensed her distress, for he took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. "Just a little farther, li'l miss. Hold on for a while longer, and this'll all be behind us. Try to imagine yourself in the middle of an open field," he said.

Catrin tried to take his advice, but the mass of energies around her assaulted her even with her eyes closed. She could sense them. She could feel their impatience. Their smell filled her nostrils, and she thought she might be sick. In an effort to stem off the nausea, she concentrated on her breathing, which had become short and rapid. Deep breaths probably would have settled her stomach if it were not for the smell of unwashed bodies.

When they finally reached the guards, Catrin's hair was soaked with sweat, and her hands trembled. Benjin approached a guard, who gave him a bored glance.

"Copper apiece," he said.

Benjin handed him a silver and pointed to himself and Catrin, as if he were mute. The guard was obviously disgusted to have to make change, and he sighed heavily as he dug in his pouch. After a moment, he produced a handful of coppers and shoved them into Benjin's hand.

"Next time bring coppers," he said and turned his attention to the next in line.

The line on the far side of the toll moved rapidly, and within a few short moments, they gained the far shore. Catrin sucked in the cool air as if she had been drowning, and Benjin dragged her off to one side.

"Calm yourself. We're not out of danger yet. There're more soldiers about."

"I'll be fine in a moment," she said, and she felt her panic begin to recede. They were across the bridge, and though she felt she was stepping from one precipice to another, she was almost accustomed to it; it had begun to feel normal.

Rats scurried at the edge of the torchlight, and the shadowy form of Chase's guide filled most of the dank tunnel they were following. The land surrounding New Moon Bay was riddled with sewers and passages, and this one was supposed to take Chase to a ship. After days of hiding in cellars and crawling through sewers, Chase was looking forward to being back at sea.

Very little had been said during his travels; Brother Vaughn had made most of the arrangements. Chase didn't even know the name of his guide or what ship he was being taken to, but he made himself keep walking despite the uncertainty. Catrin needed him, and he would not fail her.

The air became less foul as they walked and began to smell more of salt than sewage. When they reached the end of the tunnel, his guide simply pointed to a familiar-looking ship in the harbor and turned and walked back into the tunnel.

The water was far below the tunnel exit, and Chase stared down at the waves crashing on the rocks, hoping the water would be deep enough where he landed. Before his courage fled, he took a running leap into the harbor and struck the water hard. As he reached the surface, wiping the water from his eyes, he heard voices.

"Who goes there?" barked a gravelly voice.

Coming toward Chase was a small rowing craft filled with uniformed men. Taking a deep breath, he slipped beneath the dark water.

As he climbed back to the chamber atop the mountain, Nat's legs trembled from exertion as well as fear. Only the hope that he would learn something important kept him moving. Within the chamber, his visions became absolute, blotting out his current reality and showing what he thought were vivid glimpses of a likely future. Though they left him feeling nauseated and abused, he kept coming back, drawn by morbid fascination and the quest for knowledge.

Beside him, Neenya climbed, and her presence bolstered his confidence. Never before had someone shown such faith in him. As he slowly learned her language, all barriers between them seemed to fall. To trust someone so completely was a thing Nat had never believed himself capable of, but Neenya's unwavering dedication and loyalty made it impossible for him to feel otherwise.

Concern was clearly visible in her eyes as they reached the final stage of their climb, but there was something else there, something Nat could not easily define. It was acceptance, he finally decided, and he sighed. Though endeared by her devotion, Nat also felt the weight of responsibility. The Gunata, as Nat now knew the villagers called themselves, believed in him. They believed he had been sent to them to do something special, something important. Neenya had given her life over to him, leaving behind whatever it was she had done in the past, and Nat prayed he would not fail them.

When the chamber entrance came into view, Nat quailed. Only the needs of those who were depending on him drove him forward, and he practically fell into the chamber. As he crawled forward, drawing ragged breaths, the power of premonition obliterated all other thought.

Neenya held him in her arms, and when the vision finally released him, he looked into her eyes, tears streaming down his face. No words could express the horrors he'd seen, and as he pulled Neenya closer, he squeezed his eyes shut, praying that, just this once, his visions were untrue. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. His body shook in grief as his mind reconciled what he'd seen. As he wept, Neenya sang softly, rocking him to sleep.

The days merged into one long, miserable blur. Catrin could not recall how long it had been since they sold Curly, but the blisters on her feet spoke of more days than her memory could reconcile. They trudged along, surrounded by pilgrims who marched in morose silence. It wasn't a joyful journey for any of them; it was more like a death march. Like sheep to the slaughter, they put one foot in front of the other and nothing more. The people seemed to know they were going to their deaths, yet they continued.

Catrin despaired and wondered why they would leave their lives behind to seek out an idol. Even if the archmaster had mandated their presence, he was certainly in no position to enforce his edict, but they seemed not to care. From what Catrin sensed, most simply wished the misery to end.

The roads were churned to mud, at least until the snows came; then they froze, their texture sealed by frost. Ruts and frozen footprints threatened to turn their ankles, and illness began to spread. Catrin could not breathe through her nose, and a cough rattled in her chest. Benjin did what he could to secure dry places to camp and wood for fires, but the landscape was usually picked clean long before they arrived.

Large groups huddled together at night for the protection in their numbers, but Catrin and Benjin kept to themselves. They had no desire for the company, and those around them seemed to have no desire for the fellowship of strangers.

Occasionally they passed an inn, and the rosy glow that came from within beckoned to them, but Benjin insisted they save their coin for food, which was becoming increasingly expensive. Vendors took advantage of the massive migration and inflated their prices. Perhaps the shortage of food could explain away the cost increase, but Catrin resented it. She felt as if they preyed on the poor and hungry, and she detested them for it. Anger and spite were all that kept her going at times, and she used her fury to stay warm.

"You've not lost hope, have you?" Benjin asked at the end of another silent day.

Catrin remained mute for some time before answering. "Hope," she said. "Hope for what? A quick death? An end to the misery? I've no idea what to hope for. I cannot hope to save these people, and they cannot save themselves."

"Such thoughts will get you nowhere. There's always a chance that things will work out, and you're not the only one attempting to stop this madness. Others labor toward the same end, and we can only pray they've not given up," he said, but she continued to spiral into her own personal nightmare.